


Like They Used To Be

by Worldbuilder



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, Quentin is sick, Qulia, friends but hints of more, mean penny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worldbuilder/pseuds/Worldbuilder
Summary: Quentin groaned and pulled his pillow over his head, wishing he would just die already. Unfortunately, the pillow did very little to muffle Penny's loud tirade.Quentin is sick, and someone unexpected shows up to take care of him.





	Like They Used To Be

Quentin groaned and pulled his pillow over his head, wishing he would just die already. Unfortunately, the pillow did very little to muffle Penny's loud tirade. 

“ –and if I wanted to be party to your little delusions, I would just go find Josh, and–“

Quentin clutched his roiling stomach and groaned again, twisting on the bed in an attempt to find a less agonizing position. It wasn't his fault that he was so sick that he couldn't focus on keeping up his mental wards, or that he was so sick he was practically hallucinating. Under the circumstances he didn't really blame Penny for being annoyed, but did he have to be such a _dick_ about it?

He considered throwing up on Penny's feet in a last-ditch effort to drive him away. Then, remembering exactly why Penny was yelling at him, he began to imagine it vividly. The sight, then the sound, and the smell... Penny cut off abruptly in a series of gagging noises. 

“Hey! Cut that out, you little – “

Quentin felt a flash of satisfaction, though he was beginning to realize that this wasn't exactly helping to settle his own stomach. Not to mention that it seemed Quentin's stunt hadn't shut Penny up for long. He actually sounded even angrier this time. Quentin did his best to tune out Penny's renewed shouts. In a way – admittedly a very sad, pathetic way – Penny's presence was gratifying. _At least he cares, even if it's only about how much I'm disturbing him._ Quentin's other friends had barely made an appearance in the three days that he'd been deathly sick. 

Eliot had popped in the first day, but after rambling aimlessly for a few minutes he'd given Quentin an awkward pat on the shoulder and promised to visit him later, then promptly made himself scarce for the next few days. Quentin didn't really blame him – he got the sense that Eliot didn't really know what to _do_ with sick people. Margot was even worse, barely poking her head in the door and frowning at Quentin before disappearing. It wasn't that she didn't know what to do, it was more that she didn't really care enough about anyone else to put up with a prolonged period of... neediness. Quentin could respect that – looking after a sick person was never fun. Still, he liked to think that he would have done a _little_ more for them if their situations were reversed. He'd have made some soup for the two of them, at least. _He_ certainly wouldn't have turned down soup. Well, actually, he probably would have since he felt like he was dying, but that wasn't really the point. 

He'd been thinking about Alice often these last few days, while tossing and turning in bed, feeling like he was sweating out all of his internal fluids. He suspected it was these thoughts of Alice which had finally prompted Penny to storm into his room to confront him. Hard to blame him – who would want to be reminded constantly of their dead friend? Still, he couldn't help wondering how Alice would have reacted to this situation. Would she have been patient? Made him soup? Read to him? He couldn't really be sure – in a lot of ways, he really didn't know her very well at all. But he thought that maybe she would have been there for him. But Alice was dead now, had been for months, and the empty hole that opened inside of him every time he remembered that _really_ wasn't doing much to help his queasy stomach. 

He heard a voice, cool and feminine, from the doorway, putting a damper on Penny's continuing tirade. His first thought was that it must be Margo, but he highly doubted that she would go out of her way to end what she doubtless saw as a highly entertaining argument. But if not Margo, then...Kady? That definitely made more sense – most of the time, it seemed like Kady was the only one that Penny listened to. Quentin wasn't sure whether Kady was his friend, really – they didn't interact much, and he was generally suspicious of anyone who could like that asshat Penny as much as she seemed to. But the longer this mystery woman talked, the quieter Penny got. If she was going to finally get Penny to leave, he would totally be her best friend. BFFs forever. He'd buy her a bracelet and everything. Quentin realized he was probably a little delirious. The voices were fading out, sliding away as Quentin drifted off. 

He dreamed of adventuring with a dark haired girl. He could never quite see her face, but he felt safe with her, warm and protected. He didn't think she was Kady. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quentin drifted back into consciousness slowly, feeling almost like he was floating. Thankfully, he wasn't feeling as queasy – instead , he felt disconnected from his body, like his head had been stuffed with cotton in place of all the usual bodily sensations. He lay there with his eyes closed, mentally probing at his body – the disconnection wasn't exactly a pleasant sensation, and he still felt fevered, but overall he felt much better than earlier. He wondered how long he'd been out. 

Suddenly, the bed tilted and shifted as the pressure on its surface changed. Quentin briefly panicked, his eyes popping open, feeling like he was about to be dumped on the floor without any sense of balance with which to attempt to save himself. 

It was a ridiculous worry – as proved when the bed stabilized within moments of the initial shift. Quentin had already begun to relax back into the bed when his sluggish brain finally managed to put the dots together. _If the bed had moved, then... someone was there with him._ This realization sparked off a new round of panic – he couldn't move, could barely think, and _something_ was right next to him – 

His panicked thoughts cut off as a face popped into view above his, looking down at him. Julia twitched an eyebrow at him, giving him an roguish smile. 

“Hi, Q.” 

She must have been sitting next to him leaning up against the headboard, because her face was inverted over his, so that he was staring directly at that smile. His panic calmed almost immediately, but Julia still noticed something – of course she does, she never misses anything – and frowned gently at him. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

She smoothed back a strand of Quentin's long hair and traced his forehead soothingly, her fingers blessedly cool against the burning heat of his face. 

He parted his cracked lips, and it took him several tries before he can make a sound. 

“You're here.” 

She frowned at him again, quizzically. “Of course I am. I came as soon as I heard – Eliot called me.” Her lips twitched into a smile. “He snuck me onto school grounds too, so don't let Dean Fogg know that I'm here.” 

Her smile slowly faded and her brows drew together in concern as she stared at him for a long moment before continuing. “I brought you soup, but you don't look like you're well enough to eat anything. How long have you been sick?”

Quentin didn't try to respond. He didn't want to do anything to break the moment. _She came as soon as she heard? She brought soup?_ He couldn't help smiling up at her, causing her to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“What's that smile for?” 

“Just... thank you.” 

Quentin wasn't even sure himself what he was thanking her for. For coming here? For the soup? Maybe just for existing. 

Luckily, Julia seemed to understand, ducking her head in embarrassment for a quick moment before suddenly shifting her weight. Before Quentin could ask what she was doing, she lifted his head, sliding herself underneath him so that when she let him down again, his head rested in her lap. 

Quentin's momentary surprise was washed away by a sudden rush of happiness. He felt like the two of them had been drawing apart for a long time – ever since Brakebills. But this felt... close. Intimate. Like they used to be. He liked it – but even more than that, he liked that Julia'd _wanted_ to do it. He could tell that it had been an impulsive move on her part – he didn't think she regretting it, not exactly, but he could feel how tense she was, and she was studiously avoiding looking down at him. 

Quentin didn't bother trying to talk, trying to reassure her. He simply allowed himself to relax into the warmth of her, feeling the tense knots all over his body which had been his constant companions for the last few days beginning to unravel. His eyes drooped heavily, sliding shut. 

When he blinked them open again after a few moments, he saw Julia looking down at him with an open tenderness which sent a thrill through him. He wondered at that look – it was one that he used to dream of receiving from her, but which he had given up on years ago. 

He wondered... but for now, he put it out of his mind, though he couldn't banish the warm glow that suffused his body at his memory of it. He'd think about it later, doubtless agonize over it... but later. For now, just being here with her was enough. 

He relaxed further, allowing himself to unknot with a small sigh. He saw Julia's lips quirk up at the sound, and she began to trail her fingers across his face again, soothing him to sleep. 

He let his eyes drift shut, and dreamed of a dark haired girl. This time, he knew exactly who it was.


End file.
